


riding in cars with barnes

by poalimal



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Boundaries, Depression, Developing Relationship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, autonomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 19:42:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19069384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: 'I want to learn how to drive,' Barnes said.





	riding in cars with barnes

 

 

'So, Wilson,' said Barnes. Sam jumped, massively startled, and got milk all over his counter tops.

'...Barnes,' said Sam, drily.

'So,' Barnes said again a little while later, wiping the counter down. 'You know how to drive, right? Or whatever.' He tossed the sodden paper towels and Clorox wipes into the bin under the sink, shut the cabinet closed gently.

'Yup,' said Sam, through a mouthful of FiberX. 'Did you really need to break into my apartment to ask me that?'

'I want to learn how to drive,' Barnes said, sidestepping his refusal to use doors to enter buildings normally, phones to communicate ahead of time, or clocks to tell the time in the first place. He peered into the still open FiberX box, sniffed, and made a face. 'That smells gross. I want to learn how to drive.'

Sam rolled his eyes. Unlike Steve, he didn't fall apart all over himself anytime Barnes showed a personality or expressed some sort of desire, mostly because the majority of the time he did those things around Sam, he was being an asshole.

'And I want to be alone on a Sunday morning, eating a _balanced_ breakfast, without someone breaking into my apartment,' he said. 'We all want a lot of things, Barnes. Natural part of staying alive.'

Barnes peered into his face. 'Are you mad at me for coming here or something? You keep talkin' about it.'

Tricky question. On one hand, if he got within a stadium's throw of talking boundaries, Barnes would run for the hills and never come over again. And Sam already knew that Barnes didn't feel comfortable pulling this shit with Nat.

Comfortable was one thing, though. Popping up at 4AM on a Sunday? That was another thing - that was too comfortable.

'I'm not mad,' said Sam, shrugging. 'Text next time, is all. I'll prolly be up.'

Barnes' face opened up again. 'Oh, ok,' he said. 'Yea, I can text you, sorry. Can you teach me how to drive?'

Sam mulled it over. 'You know they got driving schools these days, right?'

'I know,' said Barnes, lifting up a shoulder. 'I want to do it with you.'

'Hmm. Well. Let's see.' Sam put down his bowl, leaned over to look at the calendar on his fridge. Fi's birthday was next Saturday, then he had that two day conference up in Philly the following Friday and Saturday, Howard's Homecoming game was the weekend afterward... 'I think this is probably my last free weekend for a while, actually.'

'Huh,' said Barnes, leaning in, too. Sam glanced at him sideways. 'Can I have your Wednesday? What's WFH?'

'Uh,' said Sam, leaning back. 'Yea, I usually work from home on Wednesdays. I can probably spare you an hour or two this week? It'd be in the evening, though, so it'll be dark out.'

Barnes nodded. 'That's fine,' he said. 'Two hours is good. I'll even text you beforehand, huh.'

'Ha,' said Sam, picking up his bowl again. 'You do that.'

Barnes leaned a little against the counter beside him. Sam looked at him, confused.

Barnes' lips quirked. 'Can I have some cereal?' he said.

Sam continued eating his cereal. What was that about fish and houseguests and starting to smell? Usually it happened faster than three days, in his experience. 'Thought you said it smelled gross.'

'It does,' Barnes said, picking up the box. 'But maybe I want a balanced breakfast one of these days.'

Sam snatched the box out of his hands, closed it, and placed it on top of the fridge. 'Glad I've inspired you to change your ways,' he said. 'Go buy your own damn box.'

Barnes huffed out a laugh. 'Guess I'll go do that right now,' he said.

Sam waved a passing hand behind himself as he wandered out of the kitchen. 'Sounds great,' he said, though he doubted anything was open this early. 'Please do not leave my window open when you leave.'

 

* * *

 

'So,' said Sam, that Wednesday, 'Steve mentioned you used to drive a delivery truck before. Is it that you don't remember or...?'

Barnes inclined his head maybe an inch, his hands locked at 10-and-2, eyes unblinking as he drove around in slow circles in a Michael's parking lot. The sun set early these days: it had been dark out for hours.

'HYDRA tried this thing, early on,' Barnes said, so much later that Sam had forgotten he'd asked a question. 'Time-Engineered Supressive Tactics. I don't remember the name in Russian. I used to fight a lot back then, even after they wiped me, and they wanted to make it hard for me to escape. So they tried to disrupt certain skills they thought I would use to get away outside of missions.

'They tried it with a few up-close kill tactics they taught me, and it worked ok... but then they also tried it with driving, and that was kind of messy. The decision-making process for operating a vehicle is a lot more complex than for quickly killing a human in a few precise ways. And anyway,' he pulled the car in park perfectly sideways across two different spots, 'I already knew how to drive. They didn't teach me that shit. So they couldn't take it all the way away.'

Sam looked out his window at the two other cars still in the lot; and he was moved so suddenly into sympathy his eyes almost welled up.

'So fuck them, basically,' he said, knocking the back of his hand against the panelling on his door. Barnes didn't respond.

Sam looked sideways. Barnes was looking back, relaxed now all the way up to his eyes.

'Yea,' said Barnes, ducking his head, 'fuck them.'

 

* * *

 

Barnes wasn't a bad driver, Sam soon learned. He was just... kind of stiff.

'Relax, ok,' said Sam, the first time they went out on I-95. The day was cold and bright; the radio promised snow. 'The most important thing is to have confidence. If people can't read your intentions, you'll just make 'em nervous.'

'Maybe they should be nervous,' Barnes gritted out, missing their turn. After a moment, he blew out a huge breath of air. 'That was our turn, wasn't it.'

'Yes,' said Sam. 'Yes, it was. That's ok, though, we can just turn off--'

Barnes missed their turn again. Sam watched the exit go by, then turned and looked at Barnes' shoulders. At his hands, near fists, on the wheel.

'Here,' said Sam, low and easy. 'Why don't you pull off to the side here? Nice and easy, there we go. Put it in park, ok. Now put your blinkers on. Ok. Now,' he undid his seatbelt, 'let's switch.'

Barnes didn't undo his seatbelt. He just kept staring straight ahead.

'Barnes,' said Sam, prompting. Barnes didn't say anything, just slowly lowered his head. Sam leaned a little closer. 'Bucky?'

'I can't even drive a goddamn car,' he said, flat. 'You've been babysitting me almost three weeks, and I can't even-- do this simple fucking thing!' In a sudden rush of movement, he hit the wheel with the flat of his right hand.

The honk made Sam flinch.

Bucky noticed, of course he noticed, and he undid his buckle right away, his frustration draining down into blankness.

'Sorry,' he said, fumbling to open the door, 'sorry, I'll just--' What he was going to say, and what he was going to do, out there on the side of the highway, Sam didn't want to find out.

'Don't,' said Sam, grabbing his arm. Bucky stopped, body turned away, breathing hard. Sam let go of him immediately. 'C'mon in here, man. It's ok. I'm fine. You're fine.'

Bucky closed the car door, but kept his body turned away from Sam. 'I scared you,' he said finally.

'You honked the car, dude,' said Sam, laughing a little. 'Yea, I was surprised. But not scared. It's gonna take more than that from you to scare me.'

'I can't give you anything more,' Bucky said quietly. 'There's nothing left to give.'

Sam turned that over and over in his head, but he still couldn't understand. Meanwhile Bucky's shoulders curled up further and further till he looked like a comma slumping in the driver's seat.

Ah, hell. '...You know how many times I had to take my driver's test before I passed?' Sam said.

A long silence. Finally, Bucky sighed. 'What, once?' he said, unwinding a bit.

'Nope,' said Sam, cheerfully. 'Six times.'

Bucky was silent for a few moments. 'Are you sure you should be teaching me, then?' he said, turning a little to the right. 'Since you're... not very good.'

Sam laughed aloud. 'Sorry, Barnes,' he said. 'You asked, so you're stuck with me now. I got Sarah and Gideon their licenses, and I'll get you yours, too. See, my problem is I'm a good teacher, I'm a good doer, but I'm a lousy test taker. I get all in my head, right, and I overanalyse things. So I freeze up, and can't take any action.'

When Sam didn't continue, Bucky turned his head a bit. His eyes were dark and watery.

Still beautiful, Sam thought, surprised even as he thought it.

'So how'd you pass?' Bucky asked. 'The last time. The sixth time.'

'Well,' said Sam, 'my mom told me if I didn't pass again, it would be ok. She said she'd still love me, she wouldn't be upset, and she'd drive me down to the MVA no matter how many times she had to.'

Bucky looked at Sam almost pityingly. 'You're not my mom, though,' he said. 'You don't love me.'

Sam's heart gave a plaintive little squeeze. 'Do I need to love you?' said Sam, ignoring himself mightily. 'I'll still be ok even if you fail. Even if you miss all our turns... even if you make me give you a pep talk everytime we go out on the highway,' Bucky bit back a smile, 'I'll be ok. Huh? And you'll still be Bucky Barnes, semi-functional human being, whether you succeed or fail at something very few New Yorkers can do well anyway.'

Bucky narrowed his eyes, scanning Sam's face. 'New Yorkers can... drive,' he said, a little uncertain.

'Nah, Barnes,' said Sam, clapping him on the shoulder, 'y'all really can't. It's ok!, I get it, you're busy trying to escape your garbage city--'

'Weren't you born in Harlem?' Bucky interrupted him smoothly, clicking his seatbelt in again. 'Steve said.'

'Oh, like I had a choice!' Sam said, loud and indignant and trying not to smile. 'Did _Steve_ happen to mention that my parents moved south after I was born, like any logical, loving human beings would?'

'No. But they would've loved you no matter where you were,' said Bucky, flicking off the blinkers and switching from Park to Drive. 'I take your point, though. Put your seatbelt on, I'll stop off at Exit 4 and turn around.'

 

* * *

 

It did start snowing. In fact, there was maybe an inch and a half on the ground by the time Sam drove back to Steve's to drop Bucky off.

He checked the Weather app on his phone: Heavy snow till midnight. Great. He'd have to swing by the store to pick up some rock salt, looked like.

'You said it's your niece's birthday next month, right?' Bucky was doing a lot of fidgeting over there, wasn't he?

'Yea, man,' said Sam, ignoring him mostly, scrolling through his emails. Kiki loved stargazing, so he, Sarah and Fi were taking her and her friend down to the MSC Observatory in Baltimore. 'Why?'

'I can drive you,' said Bucky. 'If you want.'

Sam put his phone down. '...You ever been to Baltimore?'

'Prolly,' said Bucky, shrugging. 'Don't really remember.' He quirked his lips a little, smiling over at Sam. 'It's all about confidence, though, right?'

 

* * *

 

'I can't do this,' said Bucky, face in his hands. 'I don't know why I thought I could do this, why'd you let me do this, Wilson?, this is gonna go awful, I'm gonna scare your sister's kid.'

He'd gotten progressively quieter on the ride over, had been practically monosyllabic in the parking garage, and seemed now to have used up the remainder of his energy, stopped out on the stairs leading up to the Observatory entrance.

'Easy, Barnes, easy,' said Sam, trying not to laugh. He pried Bucky's gloved hands apart gently, happy to see beneath it all he was fighting back a smile, even though he still looked pretty nervous. 'We Wilsons don't scare easy.' He flicked him on the forehead and backed up, laughing outright when Bucky scowled up at him. 'And hey, you call me by my last name in there, you're gonna have four confused Wilsons on your hands. Fiona took Sarah's name, remember.'

Bucky quirked an eyebrow, still rubbing his forehead. 'You gonna keep calling me Barnes, then, Sam?' He smiled ironically, lowered his hand. 'I mean, there's only one of me.'

Sam kept his hands to himself. 'Alright, alright,' he said, sighing all loud and aggrieved, 'no need to get all depressing, ok? I'll call you Bucky. And don't look so smug about it.'

Bucky raised his hands, all innocence, grinning all over. 'Who, me? I'm just standin' here!'

'Yea, yea,' said Sam, finally giving into his own smile. 'Whatever.'

 

* * *

 

On Tuesday, Sam drank lots of water; he ate three square meals, took his Vitamin D and meds, left work a bit early to go to the gym, talked to his Mama for hours, and went to sleep before 10PM.

On Wednesday he still felt like shit.

He texted Bucky after calling in sick. _Hey man_ , he said, under the line of smiling sunglasses emojis Bucky had sent last night, _sorry to cancel last minute but I'm not feeling so hot. Rain check on the driving lessons?_

He put his phone facedown on his bed and fought off a wave of misery. Outside was cloudy and grey, the light through his windows watery and weak.

Chamomile, he told himself, after a while. A beacon in his daze. He should go make some chamomile.

He didn't turn on the light in the kitchen. Filled up the kettle in the sink in silence. The blue flame on his stovetop caught and leapt when he put the kettle down. The water inside swished, settled and started to hiss; he listened, and he felt like he was sinking underwater.

Someone knocked on his door. Sam didn't even turn at the sound.

From his bedroom, his phone _ding_ 'ed three times, in rapid succession. Sam sighed, dragged himself upright, and slowly went down the hallway to his bedroom.

At some point, he realised, it had started to rain.

 _can i come in?_ read Bucky's reply.  
_im outside_  
_(u can say no)_

Sam smiled without meaning to, without wanting to, even, and he knew then that he would always let Bucky in.

Ah, well. Sometimes it turned out that way.

'Heard you were feeling under the weather,' said Bucky on the other side of the door, his breath coming out in little wisps of smoke. He held in his hand a very big carry-out bag, out of which Sam could smell the aroma of his favourite dish wafting up.

The rain had plastered Bucky's hair to his forehead - he'd recently gotten it cut.

He looked...

Sam's stomach rumbled. Well, anything would look good enough to eat when he was this hungry, he figured. He moved to the side, and waved Bucky in. 'I don't have a cold or anything,' he said, subdued even to his own ears. He closed the door after Bucky, ignoring the concerned look he cast over him. 'But you know I'll never turn down some pho.'

'You're still in your pj's.' Bucky passed him the bag to hold - _oof_ \- slipped off his shoes and hung up his dripping jacket, then took the bag back. 'Here, let's go over here. Were you sleeping? Did I wake you?'

'Nah,' said Sam, sighing, following Bucky into the dining room. He made a vague gesture at the kitchen when the kettle started to scream. 'I was making tea.'

'Well, go back to bed.' No wonder the bag had been so heavy: Bucky had bought a lot of food. Three servings of pho, two sides of pot stickers, some lemongrass chicken, and lots and lots of rice. 'I'll bring you the tea with your food.' Sam opened his mouth, but Bucky just waved him away. 'Chamomile, I know, I know. Just get back in bed, Wilson.'

'Bossing me around,' Sam mumbled, not quite sure whether he was irritated.

'Someone's got to, so shut up,' Bucky called down the hall after him. The kettle went quiet, the stovetop clicked off.

In his room, Sam jerked his covers back roughly, and he had to swallow hard past the lump of relief in his throat. 'You shut up,' he called back, once he'd collected himself. It may have taken him a while. 'And bring me my food!'

'Yea, yea, Your Highness,' said Bucky, coming down the hallway. He pushed Sam's bedroom door open with his hip - Sam noticed - then turned in sideways and knocked it almost closed with his shin. He worked quick! He'd found the food tray already and overloaded it with bowls of broth and beef and bean sprouts, white rice and potstickers, and a massive mug of tea.

'I can never find this tray after you leave,' Sam said, sitting up and letting Bucky balance the tray on his thighs. The smell of the fish sauce was making his mouth water. 'Where do you hide it?'

'Why would I hide your food tray?' said Bucky, standing back with his arms crossed. 'I just put it in with the pans, I told you.'

'Yea, but I can never _find_ it in with the pans,' said Sam, picking up his soup spoon.

Bucky rolled his eyes. 'That's 'cus your kitchen cabinets are a mess. Not 'cus I'm hiding your food tray from you.'

'Hey, I've got a system, alright, I know where everything is,' said Sam. 'Where you going?'

Bucky paused at the door. He turned back to Sam, jerked a thumb behind himself. 'I was gonna,' he said, hesitant somehow. 'Eat out there, y'know. 'Case you didn't want company.'

Sam rolled his eyes. 'Dumbass,' he said. 'If I didn't want company, I wouldn't have let you in.' A thought occurred to him. 'Hey, how'd you get here anyway? Nat drop you?'

Bucky turned away a bit, towards the door. Was he blushing? 'Nah, I took the bus,' he said, rubbing the back of his head. Was there a bus that came all the way direct from Steve's?

'You, uh,' he put his hand on the doorknob, 'you sure you don't mind me eating food in here? I'm kinda a...' his shoulders slumped a little, '...messy eater, huh.'

A while ago, Sam had made some dumb little comment about Bucky eating like a starving animal. Since then, he'd been scrupulously, painfully clean and polite every time they ate together.  
  
'Bucky,' said Sam. Something in his voice made Bucky turn back to him. The eyes he looked at Sam with were patient and clear. 'I don't care about my sheets. I don't care how you eat. I just want you here. Ok?'

Bucky was definitely blushing. He rubbed his nose a little, looked down at his socks. 'Uh,' he said, clearing his throat, 'ok. I'll, uh. Go get my food then.' He shot a little smile at Sam, then darted out into the hallway.

'And get yourself a towel while you're out there, too!' Sam called. 'Lookin' like a drowned rat!'

Bucky laughed aloud; it filled Sam all the way up inside. 'You know, you say the sweetest things, honeybear,' he said.

'Don't call me honeybear,' Sam mumbled to himself, low enough that Bucky probably didn't hear him. Low enough that he knew he didn't want Bucky to hear him.

He thunked his head back against his headboard, and looked up at his ceiling fan.

'Ah, fuck,' he said, smiling ruefully.

 

* * *

 

Over the course of three episodes of _Planet Earth_ , they polished off the pho, potstickers, half of the chicken, and five cups of chamomile tea. Sam was pretty sure there was rice all in his sheets, but he hadn't been lying when he'd said he didn't care.

'Thanks for coming,' Sam mumbled, head pillowed shamelessly on Bucky's shoulder. He was tired and he was sad - that was his excuse, and he was sticking to it.

Bucky tipped his head, too, till their heads were touching.

'Thanks,' he said, soft and warm, 'for letting me in.'

 

* * *

 

Sam didn't have much of a chance to worry over what spending practically the whole day together in bed meant, because after that, Bucky went AWOL.

He broke their Wednesday driving dates two weeks in a row, and wouldn't offer any other explanation other than 'busy, sry!!' He was otherwise just as responsive over text - more so, even - and yet it somehow felt like Sam was being avoided.

Had Sam done anything worth being avoided over? Liking Bucky, really liking him, way more than he'd planned for, was a pretty recent development, and he couldn't imagine that would scare Bucky off so soon. Had he offended him somehow, or hurt his feelings?

Steve was no help ('I don't really want to get in the middle here...'); neither was Nat ('Need me to tie him up?'), Fi ('Honestly, I can never tell if you two like each other.'), or Sarah ('Enough about Bucky - have you talked to your therapist lately?').

It was enough to drive a man to drink.

 _Will you be my designated driver tonight <3_, he texted Nat, drinking the last half of his beer. He didn't plan to get anything more than tipsy tonight, but he was drinking alone, and he was sad - it was better to be prepared.

Nat responded immediately, demanding his location (which he provided) and his level of intoxication (low), then didn't respond to any of his other texts.

An hour or so later, Sam was finishing up his third glass of water and wondering if he should just get a Lyft when Bucky came clattering into the bar. He was wearing a worn blue henley that did beautiful things to his shoulders and his eyes. Meanwhile, Sam was still in his work clothes.

It didn't matter what he was wearing, he reminded himself. Bucky was just his friend.

Bucky scanned the crowds, lighting up when he saw Sam sitting in a booth by himself. Sam raised a hand hesitantly, somewhat confused.

'Long time no see,' he said, neutrally, when Bucky slid in across from him. 'Is Nat waiting outside?'

Bucky cupped his left hand over his ear. It caught the glint of the candle between them. 'Huh?'

'I said, long time no see,' said Sam, a bit louder. Admittedly, this wasn't the best place to have any kind of intimate conversation. 'Is Nat outside?'

Bucky furrowed his brow, and shook his head slightly, touching behind his ear before raising out his hand. 'What?'

'I _said_ ,' said Sam, outside, as soon as Bucky came back out through the door (he'd insisted on closing out Sam's tab), 'long time no see.' He looked around the parking lot and zeroed in on Nat's car. The lights were off, though. There was no one inside. 'Where's Nat?'

'Oh, she had a thing,' said Bucky, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leading the way. 'So you get me tonight instead. Sorry.' He flashed a grin over his shoulder.

Sam shook his head, following after him. 'But you can't drive...?' he said.

Bucky turned around, still walking backwards. 'Sure I can,' he said lightly. 'Got my license and everything on Sunday. Steve drove me.'

Sam stopped short. Bucky did, too.

'Uh,' said Bucky, coming forward a little. 'Sam?'

Sam forced a smile onto his face, not fully knowing why it felt false. Maybe it was the cold searing his eyes. 'Hey, congrats,' he said, after a moment. He walked past Bucky, patting him on the shoulder without looking him in the face. 'Guess you don't need me anymore, huh.'

'Of course I need you,' said Bucky, behind him. Sam turned around and stepped back, surprised, when Bucky was right there. 'But you needed me, too, and I didn't know.'

Sam must have looked as confused as he felt, because Bucky made a frustrated sound. 'Listen, say whatever the fuck you want about New York, but it took me fuckin' for- _ever_ to get to your place when you were down. And if I'd been able to drive, I could've gotten to you sooner. You wouldn't have been alone.

'This whole time,' said Bucky, coming even closer, 'you've been pushing yourself to help me just 'cus I needed it, not 'cus you even liked me at first, not 'cus I'm Steve's friend, not 'cus of anything other than the fact that I needed help, and I asked you. And I took advantage of that without even thinking about it. I never thought about how I could help you.'

Well. Sam ducked his head and bit back a smile.

'What?' said Bucky, annoyed, or at least trying to be. 'What's so funny, Sam?'

'Nothing!' said Sam, laughing. 'Really, it's nothing. Just,' he grabbed Bucky's left hand, didn't flinch at the cold, 'there are more important things than driving, you know?'

'Oh,' said Bucky, low, leaning in. 'S'that so?'

'Mm-hm.' Sam met him half-way.

'Alright, it's freezing,' he said, after a long moment, pushing Bucky back. He was pretty sure his ears were gonna fall off. 'C'mon and drive me home.'

'In a minute,' Bucky murmured, eyes lidded low. He wrapped Sam up tight in a hug, in a sigh. 'In a minute.'

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired in part by TrufaxRex' winter, Sweetheart, which features Sam as an Asset brainwashed by HYDRA, unable to fly longer than five minutes outside of a mission. I won't link to it because I can't really stomach fic in which Sam is tortured or experimented on. I've also never seen Riding in Cars with Boys, so I don't know if this fic has anything in common with it besides the title.
> 
> Anyway - some notes:
> 
> I. Bucky would certainly need a learner's permit or a driver's license to drive!  
> II. Vitamin D deficiency has been associated with Seasonal Affective Disorder (https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/10888476).  
> III. I've been quite taken with the idea that difficult conversations are easier to have in cars ever since I read about it in a few articles. Of course, I can't find any of those same articles now...  
> IV. This takes place in DC and Maryland.


End file.
